'The Bachelorette' Season 7, Episode 9 Recap - And Then There Were Two

And then, there were two.

But not before it almost, kinda-maybe-sorta looked there might once more be three.

It’s been an incredible journey full of stupid people doing really stupid, hurtful, senseless things, but we’re now upon the finale. And this week, what remains of the herd was culled down to prize bulls J.P. and Ben F. after Constantine decided neither this nor Ashley is what he wants at all and walks out – making him the third smartest man, behind Bentley and Mickey, selected this season and only because he figured out how worth this it wasn’t so much later the other two.

After week after week of psychological abuse, physical torment and teary wails of “I don’t know if I can do this” as if someone had just handed teenage-minded monster a shotgun and the beloved family yellow lab on a leash and pointed her toward the woodshed, the stick has been dangled just close enough for these ponies to nosh their carrot.

It’s what Chris Harrison tells is “the Week of the Overnights,” which let’s be honest, just sounds like it should be the underwhelming movie title that eventually tells us George F. Romero finally ran dry of “ . . . Of The Dead” zombie-romp concepts. Harrison will be offering J.P., Ben F. and Constantine each a card good for one grown folks-time romp with the nasal-but-cute little face-hugger in the posh Fantasy Tweet.

As Ashley will incessantly be reminding us for the next two hours, she’s always wanted to see Fiji. She’ll be faced with many an opportunity to blubber how she’s not sure she can do thiiiis, because apparently they’re all so sincere, so handsome, so . . . . great, that at this point, the fact they share those identical descriptions with nearly every single man she’s sent home should make these boys nervous as long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs.

But our real question is not to whom is this fickle runt devoted, but something else. Will they be devoted to her? Will they love her? Will they cherish her? Honor . . . Obey . . . Punch kittens . . . Offer up burnt sacrifices and kegs of virgin’s blood . . . Duel to the death . . . for our one true Goddess, Ashley Hebert?

But first, this being the incompetently put-together “The Bachelorette,” anticlimactic things must be anticlimactic. To the surprise of absolutely nobody who’s watched the last several weeks of “Next week . . .” teasers, this is the night he came home.

Zombie Jesus, I wish.

Tragically, it’s here that I must abandon humor. One of the men she sent home developed a disease that’s common, curable, but devastatingly painful. In at least some likelihood, Ashley gave it to him. Ryan P., probably not long after Ashley sent him tearfully packing and wiping the perma-smile from his face, has contracted closure-ism.

And walking around Ashley’s chateau, his Golly-Gee-Wilikers Grin is taking a siesta while his eyes instead are just calmly and evenly telling us, “I just might have to make like Dexter Morgan here, and I find I’m completely OK with that.” And in fact, in a moment that just begs for a YouTube re-dubbing with the Dexter score, Ashley opens her door and wants to know, “Ry, what are you doing here?”

No grasp of the obvious. None. Zero.

So, Ryan has to sit her down and apparently spell this out as clearly as possible: he believes their obvious spark was doused a little prematurely, and needs to know once and for all that it’s really, really dead.

There's this certain way these questions always end up answered, and it's never, ever good...

OK, so we’re dealing with two sharp bowling balls right here. Handle with care. This wasn’t Bentley leaving, and Ashley needing to know why – and by the way, B-man: thank you, you hemorrhoidal bunghole of Satan, for opening the door once more for these stupid surprise returns. May you go Michael Chiklis-bald in your next night’s sleep.

No. She sent you home. He “cleverly” doesn’t give her the opportunity to spell it out in two letters starting with “N” – or, if she’s more clever than I’ve been giving her credit for, four letters in German or Russian – by leaving her his hotel address and suggesting she think it over.

“I didn’t want her to have a quick, knee-jerk response,” he explains. Not a big quick-and-painless fan, are you?

Meanwhile, Ashley’s on a boat with Ben. He has some reassuring to do that those were in fact not two hypothermic polar bears he introduced her to, for as frigid as they came across, and that they both really dug her. They’re “like little schoolchildren” flirting coyly on the boat, says Ben.

Well, she’s got the figure . . .

Yep, “schoolchildren” – schoolchildren applying suntan lotion most sexily . . . and who might get to the humpity-bumpity later. Coming soon, to ABC Family . . .

Apparently over dinner, Ben has decided he can now safely reveal his mutant telepathic abilities, tell Ashley he can see how she feels from her eyes. We can only hope that means he picked up on “OMG! I was going to DVR ‘Teen Wolf’ reruns tonight! Does he think my hair’s too shiny? Did I pick cute lip-gloss, or is it TOO cute?”

You know, her biggest, deepest thoughts.

And it all ends with Chris serving up Ben’s invitation to some saucy “dessert” service, which he’s naturally smart enough to accept.

Next up to bat is Ben’s man-child mate, Constantine. They actually have the two meet running towards each other in a field (Really, Producers? Really??) as Ashley explains that things have moved so slowly between the two.

It’s an equally bad sign that Constantine seems just a little more jazzed about getting to ride in a helicopter than the fact that he’s riding in a helicopter with Ashley. I’m not sure if that’s a bad sign that’s he has a punched one-way ticket to Dumpy-town, or that Ashley must compete with an aircraft for affection.

They’re off to a private little waterfall for diving, swimming, half-clothed frolicking, munching coconut by the water . . . chattin’ about real estate . . . feel that? That’s the sexy creepin’ in. Awwwww, yeah. Who’s getting’ sub-prime? Constantine’s getting’ sub-prime.

Ashley thinks she’s got him pretty well pegged, saying that she can tell how he views relationships based upon how many houses he perused before buying his.

“People are not houses,” says our butch Buddha.

And in other news . . .

Oh, but Ashley’s turning the heat up. She tells him that she won’t be on the market forever, and that he’d better move quicker than he’s comfortable with if he wants those keys.

Two men have walked out on her already, and she still thinks this show is apparently a seller’s market?

After we’re mercifully rescued from Ashley pointing the shotgun at her tootsies and taking the safety off by President Obama being all “Blah blah blah, debt crisis . . . Blah blah blah, economy’s in the sh&*^er and I don’t have Roto-Rooter on speed-dial . . .”, we’re back just in time for Constantine to pull the trigger.

On comes the Fantasy Suite invite, which he wisely . . .  turns down flat. “If we’re going to be 100% honest about it, this is the end of the road for me.” The man didn’t even finish dinner. He says his “biggest fear was hurting Ashley or embarrassing her,” which speaks volumes for his decency since she inflicted a concussion on Ames in that stupid kickboxing stunt and made everybody look like fools with that gleeful revelation that she’d spent some time alone with Bentley after he walked out on her. Remember, folks: justice is getting what you deserve. Grace is getting what you don’t deserve.

Oh, but here it comes.

“What if I end up all alone, and this was for nothing?” she wonders. No, no, no. And the line is, “I DOOON’T KNOOOOW IF I CAN DOOO THIIIIIIIIS!”

Well, after that punch to Ashley’s ego’s baby-maker, Ryan comes a-knocking and it’s time for more brutality. As she greets him, she’s clearly actually giving it some thought. To his credit, I think I only ever grinned as big as Ryan when I once got engaged, and when I got my first Nintendo at Christmas.

This isn’t to be, though. This is the week of the endless dumb moves, and Ryan jetting to Fiji – though, of course, probably on ABC’s considerably dime – wins one easy gold medal. She’s in this just to boost her ego on the rebound from a bad date, and doesn’t mince many words or waste much time telling him that there’s no passion there for her. As he eventually leaves, Ryan says that “it hurt the first time Ashley let me go, and it hurts again now.”

Last but not least, it’s the Dennis Rodman of rebound dates, J.P., who awaits his own Fantasy Island romp now that he really looks like an odds-on favorite. They take a long plane ride around the island, which really is some beautiful footage – like some lost Jurassic Park principal photography. After some beach-side frolicking, J.P. is his usual honest self: she’s won over his family, she’s won over his heart and he’s in it to win it.

Following a dinner in which she tells him all about Ryan’s failed return and Constantine’s voluntary exit, he’s more than happy to accept the other overnight invite. Back in the room, J.P. makes himself cozy as Ashley changed into a button-down shirt and starts making out with her could-be man before the camera man can even bogart some mini-bar peanuts and gracefully excuse himself.

Finally, we end this week not with a proper Rose Ceremony necessarily, but just Ashley telling Ben and J.P. that she really needs to hear that they want her. Ugh. We’re out. Merciifully.